


Heroic Origins

by Ileniss



Category: Miraculous Ladybug, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27206479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ileniss/pseuds/Ileniss
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have been flatmates and best friends for over a year, when they are given a secret identity no one can find out about - not even them.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: Explicit language, mentions of home abuse

In the year of 2011 Dr John H. Watson had been evacuated from the battlefield in Afghanistan due to a dangerous injury. The fallen soldier had been transported over to London's National Home for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers, where he had stayed for a month, under the watchful eye of the best physical therapists. He had learned to walk, talk and eat again but he still lacked sleep. Nightmares had been haunting him every night, keeping him up or waking him up in cold sweat if he had managed to close his eyes for a moment.

In May of 2011 the soldier was transported yet again into a small flat in the suburbs. It wasn't much, just a small bedroom with a window and a desk, even smaller bathroom and an even smaller kitchen place. He didn't need much more than that, but he knew he would have to find himself an actual place to live soon as this wasn't a long-term solution.

You can only imagine his joy when after a nice little meet-up with an old friend, he heard the words "I know somebody who's looking for a flatmate". John wasn't an impulsive person, he was actually very hesitant when it came to meeting new people. But for this man... He was ready to risk it all.

Sherlock Holmes was the sort of man people despised. There were many reasons why but John found three sentimental truths that seemed to be the most important ones. First of all, his intellectual skills were quite mind-blowing. The man was born with an extraordinary talent to read people's whole life story just by looking at them. Second of all, he was painfully honest - which often made him seem like an utter cock. He had no boundaries and couldn't tell polite from cruel. Of course, even if he could, he still wouldn't make much use of it, or so everyone thought. And third of all, Sherlock had an intimidating aura. He was horribly attractive and knew exactly how to take advantage of that. And so he did. John wasn't sure if he was more jealous of his looks or his amazing flirting skills...

Either way, it only took them one evening to get to know each other enough for John to decide he wanted to move in with this man. He provided him with enough adrenaline and dopamine to forget about Afghanistan, about his leg, about his shoulder. Nothing else mattered.

********************************************

"Do you need anything from the store? I'm going shopping!" John called out, rushing out of the kitchen. He had checked every cupboard earlier, making sure to note everything that he would have to provide them with.

"Some biscuits, maybe? And milk" Sherlock responded with a mutter, not looking up from his laptop. To be clear - not quite his laptop. John's. Dr Watson couldn't care less, though.

"Sure. I'll be back soon. Don't start a war?" he joked, grabbing his coat. Sherlock shot him a glare, which softened as soon as he spotted the faintest smile on John's lips. He nodded, looking back down at whatever the hell he was doing, as the shorter man rolled his eyes with a chuckle, jogging down the stairs.

As he walked down the street he still wore a smile on his face. Passing all those little stores on Baker Street, kids running around the square, heading for the park - it all made his heart happy. A few months earlier he didn't believe that he would ever feel that again. Yet there it was..

He frowned as he heard shouting of a different nature - aggressive, offensive. Metal clicking - gun. Off safety.

John's instincts screamed 'check it'. No sane person would go unarmed anywhere near an attacker with a gun, but Dr Watson was nowhere near sane.

The shouting seemed to come from a darkened backstreet. John moved closer to the wall, peeking from around the corner. The attacker was a tall man with black hair. He was standing over another man, curled up on the floor, his clothes torn and dirty. Probably a homeless person. The aggressor held a gun up, pointing it at the other. Only small begs and cries were audible from the mess of a man laying on the concrete. Watson pulled out his phone and texted Detective Inspector Lestrade the name of the street.

"Hey, you! Stop it, now!" he called out, feeling his heart beat faster with anger and confidence. He stepped closer and soon regretted it - the man was so much taller than him. It didn't make him back off, though.

"Who are you?" the man looked up, raising an eyebrow. Must have been a funny view to him, see such a small, innocent looking man standing in front of him.

"I'm Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart's bloody Hospital and I suggest you drop this weapon and leave at once" he answered quickly, his face staying stone cold and emotionless.

The man raised his gun and pointed it at John. Dr Watson didn't flinch. He took another step forward, then another and one more - until he was standing just a few feet away from the other, the gun pressed to his forehead.

"Pull the trigger and there is no going back. The police will be here in less than a minute. And if they find me dead... Well, you know what happens, don't you?" he said calmly, tilting his head a bit. The other gulped quietly but didn't move.

One swift move of John's left elbow and the man's gun was on the ground. And with another one of those moves - so was the attacker himself.

"Watson! Watson? Are you okay?"

John turned around just to see Detective Lestrade running down the path, sirens in the distance slowly becoming louder and louder. 

********************************************

"Are you okay, sir?"

Dr Watson approached a taller man, wrapped up in an orange blanket, sitting on the ground with his head in his lap. He was clearly in shock. John couldn't help but pity him.

The man raised his head. His bloodshot eyes glistened with thankfulness. "Oh, good man you are. Thank you, oh, thank you" he choked out, shaking his head, like if he couldn't express his feelings enough.

"You're welcome. You are no longer in danger, please, try to calm down" John said, kneeling and putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "You will be alright, I guarantee you".

"Why did you help me, good sir? I'm just a crappy junkie, nobody of any importance-" he cried out, before he was silenced by John's scoff.

"No, of course not. Everybody's important. Everybody matters. I believe all of us deserve help, we're all just... People" he smiled softly, his words clearly inspiring the other man. He stared at the soldier for a moment, before blinking a few times and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small, black box with red symbols on the lid and looked up at the other again.

"Please, take this as a form of... Gratitude. For all you've done for me today and all you will do for other people in the future" he said, his voice raspy but deeper than before.

John furrowed his brows. "I didn't do it for any kind of-"

"I know. And that's exactly why I want you to have it" he said, a smile lighting up his pale face.

John reached for the box and examined it, before reaching to open it. However, the bloke stopped him. "Open it when you're at home, alone. Please" he instructed quietly.

John frowned. Taking a present from ‘a junkie’, which he is obligated to open in private... Sounded suspicious. Sounded risky. Sounded dangerous. He nodded slowly.

"Of course. Thank you."

"No, young man. Thank you"

********************************************

How much time? Fourteen minutes? Getting closer to fifteen. It usually took John nineteen minutes to do his shopping and get back home. Sherlock counted. Every time.

He would always stay at the flat, taking in his moments of silence, using them fully and completely, making sure they weren't wasted. Nineteen minutes of brain-clearing, slowing down and catching up with his furious thought process.

Shouting from outside. Cars screeching. A woman in her early twenties crying. Noise. "Shut up!" he called out, his eyes rolling back as he let out a loud groan of pure discomfort and annoyance.

"Sherlock, sweetheart, I never said anything- Oh! Oh God, look!" Poor Mrs. Hudson's face went pale as she peeked her head through the doorway. Her eyes went wide. Something scary, traumatic, shocking - outside the window. The detective sighed deeply and turned his head.

The sight made him jump up to his feet and grab his coat. He pulled it on, reaching for John's gun from the drawer, before leaving the flat quickly, Mrs. Hudson's cries left behind in the sitting room.

Outside the building was standing a crowd of gapers. Some had their phones out, recording, some were screaming, some were just standing there and doing nothing - gapers.

Baker Street 220, second floor, an opened window. A woman hanging from it. Crying. Her hair a mess. Her shirt loose from... Pulling? Fighting? Looking up at something inside the flat. Aggressor? Home abuse victim then. The girl - not too athletic. Won't hold on too long.

"Did anyone call the police!?" somebody yelled.

"They won't arrive on time, the approximate time for the police's arrival is seven minutes and nineteen seconds" said Sherlock, rather loudly, as he made his way through the crowd "Call the ambulance instead, she might need one".

He began analysing his way up to the woman. Through the flat? Impossible. Aggressor must have still been inside. He couldn't risk taking too much time in the flat, neutralizing the suspect. The possibility of the woman not making it was too high. He looked away. The building was tall, many balconies and windows. He could easily climb up, get the woman down the same way, then go deal with the abuser. He settled on that option.

He pulled his coat off, deciding that it would only make the hike much harder. He threw it over at the closest gawker, before jumping up and gripping one of the barriers. He pulled himself up and jumped down onto the balcony. The woman's cries were now even louder, making Sherlock's heart beat faster with adrenaline. He had to really focus on not smiling. Smiling in a situation like that was definitely not a good idea after all. 

Another swift jump with a pull-up and he was already on the second floor. He could see the woman clearly, feel her fear, hear every single cry coming out of her mouth. The visible and audible panic that needed to be calmed down - or else she would not make it. 

"Hey, don't worry, I'm here now" he said, turning her attention to him. Her eyes widened - panic, but relief. Pupils dilated. Sherlock gave her a warm, soothing smile. "What's your name?"

"Oh God, please help me, please-" she cried out, kicking her legs in the air. She screeched as her hand slipped away, then grabbed onto the window yet again.

"I will, I need you to tell me your name first" he said slowly, reaching out his hand, like if he wanted to say 'stop'.

"Anthea- Please, help me!".

"Okay, Anthea. I need you to stop crying. Calm down, I want you to concentrate all of your strength in your arms. I'm gonna ask you to move closer to me so I can get you down" he instructed her, staring at her with a caring but concerned look in his eyes.

She looked down and squealed, "No, I can't-". 

"Yes, you can, Anthea! I need you to believe me. You can!" he said quickly. "Move closer to me, just a bit. I will help you". 

Anthea gulped, looking up again. She managed to move her fragile hand closer to the right edge of the window. She held onto it tightly, series of small squeals escaping her swollen lips. "Shit- Oh, oh God..."

"Good, come on... Just a little bit closer, you can do it. Look at you, look at how brave you are" Sherlock said softly, giving her another friendly smile. She glanced at him and nodded weakly, trying to move even closer. "Just another inch, come on, Anthea. Just another inch...".

And there it was. The girl managed to pull herself up and to the right again. It was Sherlock's turn to react. He quickly jumped over the barrier, one of his legs staying on the balcony, as he reached out both of his hands. If he grabbed her too slow, they would both fall, his leg wouldn't be able to block such weight. If he did it fast enough, they would both get back onto the balcony. He took a deep breath and counted to three. He wrapped his arms around the girl's waist and gripped her, before pulling back onto the balcony. With a groan from him and a shriek from her, they landed safely on the wooden tiles - Sherlock on his back, Anthea curled up on top of him. Both of them stayed like that, panting.

“It’s all right now... I’ve got you...”.

After less than a minute they both heard sirens - so somebody really called the police...

********************************************

"Anthea Brown. Twenty three. Lives here with her boyfriend. Now, obviously, I don't think that will be the case anymore" Sally Donovan handed the notepad over to Sherlock, eying him carefully. She wasn't too fond of working with him. Clearly.

"Right. Great" he nodded, looking over at the woman, wondering if he should tell Sergeant that he had already known all of that... "Arrest the man, let her stay here - would make sense, don't you think?"

"I know what to do, freak. This is not my first case like this" she scoffed, turning on her heel and walking back to the police car. To write down a report? Most likely.

Sherlock sighed and soon turned around. The crowd was still there, most of them were now focused on him instead of the girl herself. He quickly spotted the man holding his coat and headed over to get it back.

"Congratulations, that was so... Heroic" said the bloke, his eyes glistening with admiration.

"I did what had to be done" Sherlock answered absent-mindedly and grabbed his coat, hanging it over his shoulder as he made his way back to his flat.

As he walked inside, he furrowed his brows. The coffee table, where previously was only his own cup of tea and John's laptop, was now empty - except for a small black box with red, ancient symbols on the lid and a card glued to the side:

'Open when alone and ready. -Master Fu'  
********************************************

Sherlock basically threw himself at the box, examining its texture with his slender fingers. He stared at it for a moment, sniffed it, felt the temperature in particular places - it has been in somebody's pocket, a male possibly - that last part was obvious from the note.

Master Fu... Sherlock couldn't help but snort. Some bloke really had the audacity to call himself that..? But then again, he broke into Sherlock's flat without Mrs. Hudson noticing. And without the detective himself noticing...

Sherlock reread the note a few times, mostly because he still had no idea what it possibly could be about. What's so secret about this box that it had to be opened 'when alone and ready'? He didn't like the sound of that. It sounded... Risky.

"Mrs. Hudson! Tell John to not interrupt me in my room when he comes back with the groceries, please! I'm working on an experiment and need maximum privacy!" he called out and stormed off to his bedroom. 

He made sure to lock the door, before he flopped down on the bed and pulled his legs up to sit pretzel style as his eyes scanned the box once again. Open it.  
He placed his index finger on the lid and ran it across the symbol, before gently opening the box. As soon as he did so, the box started shaking, making Sherlock drop it on the sheets and shift away. He furrowed his brows, staring at it with shock as green flames consumed whatever was inside the box - or so he thought.

Soon enough the room exploded with green light, making Sherlock cover his eyes with both of his hands. What's going on? What is this-? A second later the light was gone. The room went dark again. The detective slowly uncovered his face to see what had happened to the box. It was in the exact same place as before. A silver ring was laying inside of it. The brunette raised his eyebrows and reached for it, but soon froze, hearing somebody clear their throat. No. Not a somebody. A something. High-pitched voice. Something.  
"Hold up there, Sherlock. We haven't even had the pleasure of meeting each other yet!"

Sherlock's eyes landed on a weird creature floating in the air next to his face. Black, cat-looking. 4 inches tall. Green cat-like eyes. Two long whiskers. Cat ears, tail, small paws.

"What the hell are you?" Sherlock scoffed, staring at that 'thing' with astonishment.

"I'm Plagg and I'm a kwami. You surely don't even know what that means, do you?" the cat-like creature went around Sherlock's head in quite a quick, swift motion, his small tail hitting the detective's nose. He couldn't help but wonder if it was Plagg's intention. "The ring you were so confidently reaching for is a miraculous. You were chosen to be the owner of the Miraculous of Chat Noir-"  
"Black Cat in French" he cut him off, receiving a glare in response.  
"Well done, Sherlock" The kwami rolled his eyes, "This ring will give you the power of Destruction which you are obligated to use in defence of the good and the right".

"How do I use destruction in defence of the good? Doesn't make sense" Sherlock quarrelled.

"You'd be surprised" Plagg hummed, "As any Miraculous owner you have a special skill you can use. Your Miraculous is one of the two strongest ones and so is your skill. It can destroy every single thing on your way, all you have to do is say 'cataclysm' and touch the thing you need to get rid of" he finished, smiling a bit.

Sherlock took a moment to comprehend the creature's words. He was going to say that none of this really made sense and destroying matter with just one touch is physically impossible, but he stopped himself - was any of this really physically possible?

"When you put your ring on, you can turn into Chat Noir. All you have to do is give me a command - Claws out! Seems simple, right? Because it is" he beamed. "You have to remember that after using Cataclysm I will only be able to hold my powers for a few minutes longer, which means you will have to transform back and let me eat a little snack to regain my strength. Preferably, camembert, if you could. To transform back you will need this command: Claws in" he finished with a grin.

"A-Alright..." Sherlock hummed after a moment, not sure if he really understood.

"Okay, good. Another rule: You must under all circumstances ALWAYS keep your identity a secret. You can never tell anybody about who you really are. Nobody can know Sherlock Holmes is Chat Noir. Nobody can know Chat Noir is Sherlock Holmes. Otherwise, your Miraculous will be taken away. And I quite like you already so I would not want that to happen. Got it?"

"I think so" Sherlock nodded.

Now it made sense. The note. The whole intimacy of this situation. It all was now pretty obvious.

"Definitely got it" the detective said after a moment, more eagerly than before.

"So... There's just one more thing" said Plagg, taking in a deep breath.

********************************************

“So I’m a part of a furry superhero duet, but I can’t find out who the other person is?” 

“That’s basically it, yes” 

John inhaled deeply, staring at the red pin with five small dots on it. How was this little thing supposed to give him the superpower of creation? That sounded... awfully sketchy. But every single thing about the situation he had found himself in was just equally as sketchy as that, so he had no reason not to believe it. 

“So how will I know I can trust them?” he raised his eyebrow, looking up at the creature. 

Tikki chuckled quietly and shook her little head. “Don’t think about it too much. He passed the same exam as you did. If there is one person on this whole planet that you can trust with your whole heart, it’s him. You’ll like him” she beamed. 

“But I can’t meet him!” John reasoned. 

“You can! Just- Not the other him. But that’s for the better, John. If you knew who it was... It could interfere with the way you work together. And remember that when you’re hiding behind a mask it’s much easier to be honest. You’re almost anonymous” she explained quietly, giving him a soft smile. “You two will do just fine. I promise. Master Fu wouldn’t have chosen you if he wasn’t sure of that!” 

He sighed. Master Fu? Superheroes? Superpowers? What had he ever done to deserve such a mess of a life? 

“I know you think you can’t do it, John. I know you think you’re not enough after everything you’ve gone through. But Chat Noir needs you. England needs you. And there is nobody who could do this better than you” she reassured. “There is a horrible, horrible enemy on his way to London and you must be here when the time comes” 

John raised his head. An enemy? God, if there was a criminal on his way to London, then he would have quite a bit of a problem. How would he keep his new, secret identity away from Sherlock if- 

“Sherlock won’t notice” Tikki said like if she was reading his mind this whole time. He wouldn’t even be surprised if that was true...

“He notices everything” he objected. 

“Don’t worry about it” she repeated a bit louder this time, like if she wanted to shush him. And she definitely did. Watson just nodded. 

They sat there in silence for a longer while, but it wasn’t in any way uncomfortable. John needed time to comprehend everything he had just heard and Tikki was more than willing to let him do so in peace. 

“Take your time. As much as you need. And when you’re ready, just put the pin somewhere on your shirt and say the words. You know which ones” she told him as softly as she could and soon disappeared with a silent poof.


	2. Chapter 2

First, there is a hypothesis. Then an answer follows.

"Where have you been?" 

"Shopping. A little accident stopped me on my way to Tesco. Don't worry about it."

"I wasn't going to."

After the introduction, there's always development.

"You've been sitting here alone the whole time?" 

"You only left for 27 minutes, I wouldn't give it such a dramatic title."

"I suppose you're right. I just thought you'd find yourself something to do by the time I'm back." 

"Well. I didn't do anything. But Lestrade sent me some photos of our next case. I'm taking it."

"'Our' case? Don't you mean 'we're' taking it?"

"Well, that's painfully hard to tell apart these days." 

And after that, the ending usually comes. 

"Here. I'll text you the address and I want you to go there and interview the woman. She's our only witness. I think you'll like her. She's a hooker."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean-?"

"Come on, Bachelor John Watson, shoo!"

And with that the prologue ended. The doors closed, the men stood now alone, apart from one another, trying to collect their thoughts. 

That's where the story of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson ended. 

But yet another adventure began.

********************************************

"Is this the right time to begin? What if he asks what'd taken me so long?" John raised his eyebrows at the little creature in his eyes, trying his hardest to hide the level of stress he had found himself in as soon as his new friend flew out of his pocket. 

"He won't!" Tikki stressed, giving him a grin. "Stop worrying so much. You'll be fine! Don't you love adventures? Come on, say the words, and allow yourself to live again!" she raised her hands in excitement, soon flying up to his shoulder to pat it "You know you want it". 

Watson had to admit she was right. He wanted it. Oh, God, had he craved it! The feeling of adrenaline rushing through his veins, filling him up with ecstasy and hope. Hope for something new, something uplifting, something stimulating, thrilling even. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, unsure of what to expect, before letting out a quiet hum. 

"Spots on" 

All he heard was Tikki's happy squeak and the world began to shake under his feet. Or maybe it was him shaking the whole time. He could feel a wave of heat washing over him, his body tingling like insane. He winced as his muscles forced him to stand up - his eyes snapped open in horror. When he looked down, he noticed that he was now wearing completely different clothes - a red and black suit with a yo-yo attached to his belt. If John had ever felt ashamed of his outfit, this one was certainly worse. 

"Fuck- Am I supposed to walk around London looking like this?" he raised his eyebrow, staring up at his reflection in the mirror of a public bathroom. Would the mask on his face be enough to hide his true identity from Sherlock Holmes himself? He licked his lips nervously and reached down to the sink, pouring some water onto his hands and running them through his hair to try and wash off all the product he had used that morning. When he was done with that, he shook his head once more and tried to mess his hair up just enough to make it look like an actual hairstyle - one that John Watson would never dare to do. "Right. That will have to do" he sighed, cursing himself under his breath, before turning to the door and reaching for the handle. 

********************************************

"What IS this material? Lycra? Spandex? You didn't even bother to ask me if I was allergic?!" Sherlock huffed loudly, examining himself in the mirror. He tried to flex as much as he could, before leaning forward and backwards again. Ah, yes, definitely spandex then. Or maybe some kind of material that he had never even heard of before? It'd appeared on his body on its own after all...

The detective sighed dramatically, and ruffled his hair a bit, smirking at the way the cat ears moved along. Now, that suit didn't look so bad. A way too long belt that was supposed to imitate a cat's long tail - he grabbed it and tried to swing it around but after a few tries he finally decided that particular was not a secret weapon of any sort and was only supposed to be aesthetically pleasing. He cleared his throat and looked around, before proceeding to pretend that had never taken place. 

There was a black staff attached to his belt, which he further deduced to be the actual weapon he had been searching for. He hummed - well, anybody could have made that mistake. Even the clever ones. 

He reached for it and tried swinging it, but as soon as it grew bigger, he flinched and jumped back. Ah. So it could extend its length. He tried to swing it back, and just like he had predicted, it shrank. He couldn't help but wonder how long it could possibly get. Would it be possible to use as a way of quicker transport? Plagg did say that he would be able to move swiftly after all. He put the staff back behind his belt and looked his reflection up and down again, the corner of his lips moving upwards slightly, "Alright. Into battle".

********************************************

"How long is this thing?"  
"Fuck, how do I even get down now?"  
"Wait, I can THROW THE YO-YO?!"  
"Can I grab things with it?"  
"Oh my God, never getting up to grab the remote again!"  
"What does this do?"  
"ARGH!"  
"Okay, don't panic, just throw it and pull back and-"  
"HOLY SHIT! THIS IS AWESOME!"

********************************************

"Oi! Cool outfit, nelly!" 

Sherlock winced. Maybe taking the tube wasn't the best idea after all... He rolled his eyes at the aggressor and looked out the window, trying to pretend that the flashing images behind the glass were somehow of importance. If he was to tell the truth, anything could prove to be more interesting than the group of teenagers calling him from the other side of the cabin. 

"Not gonna answer me? Bold enough to wear that gay-arse outfit in public, but not to actually confront a bunch of teenagers? What a sissy" 

The detective gripped the handle tighter, groaning quietly. 'Ignore it, once they see what you do, they will regret it all'.

"It's lovely how you've noticed. People tend to say that you only recognise the ones your heart knows and longs for" he pulled on a fake smile and swung his 'tail' around, stepping out with a proud look on his face.


	3. Chapter 3

"How do I even find the other bloke? I mean, London's huge-" 

"Don't you worry about that, John. Go where your heart takes you!"

"That's slightly metaphorical."

"I promise you - If you listen to that inner voice in the back of your head... You'll always find him."

********************************************

Learning how the yo-yo worked was easy enough. John decided to test its secret abilities by finding himself a quiet spot in one of the abandoned buildings further away from the city centre. He first tested his abilities of grabbing certain things, starting from smaller things like rocks or his phone, but eventually he got excited enough to try and grab a chair. As surprising as it was, the yo-yo worked perfectly, no matter how big the object was. John smiled proudly. Tikki did say he was bearing one of the most powerful miraculouses after all... 

After he had finally decided the test was reliable enough, he moved on to check yet another superpower. He needed to know how well that thing could handle his own weight. In order to check that, he threw the yo-yo and pulled on the string, just to make sure that it caught on something, before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.

"You only live once... Here we fucking go, then" 

He pulled the string down as much as he could, before leaning forward and jumping up, letting out a loud screech as he got catapulted in the air. Holding onto the string and never letting go, he kept his eyes shut, waiting to hit something and probably end up dead, but much to his surprise, nothing of that sort happened. He looked around and gasped - he was hanging on the string a few feet above the ground. As he yanked the string, he landed on the ground on his feet with no injuries whatsoever. Hm. Interesting. 

John Watson had never been happier in his entire life. 

And that's when he heard it. 

A quiet scoff and something that sounded like a chuckle, yet silent enough to appear mysterious. John turned around. His eyes widened. 

"Having fun yet?" the intruder asked and John froze completely. There, a few feet in front of him, stood a tall man in a black cat suit, smirking at him as he rotated a short staff in his hand. 

John bit his lip. "How did you find me?" he questioned quietly, taking a step back, just in case. The other only laughed. 

"Don't be scared, we're on the same team, remember?" he raised his eyebrow, before clearing his throat and shoving his staff behind his belt. Only then did John notice that it formed a long tail behind the bloke. It looked- well, less ridiculous than his own costume. "To be honest with you, I only came here to see what this thing can do. But I guess you were first" he explained softly. He appeared to be quite friendly. Charismatic, even. 

"I guess they were right when they said we would find each other at all times" John hummed, offering an unsure smile. The cat huffed. 

"You can just use your phone, you know."

"I don't have your number, I don't even know who you are."

"There is a phone-y thing installed in my staff, I'm pretty sure your... yo-yo" he couldn't help but snort, "has a similar device somewhere in it" he finished, shrugging. John groaned. So that's what it was for... "And about not knowing who we are... We can't know, can we?" 

"Yes, that would be the case."

"Do you really mind that much? There's something exciting about it. Almost... thrilling."

"Not at all. I find it amusing that I'll be calling you The Black Cat."

"Says The Ladybug."

The two men exchanged playful looks, before bursting into giggles. John couldn't help but notice that he had never gotten along with anybody this quick - except for Sherlock Holmes. His flatmate, best friend and... detective. The detective who had given him a mission.

"Oh shoot!" he cursed under his breath, looking around and back to the man. 

"What is it?" his new companion frowned. 

"I really need to go. You can train here as you've intended. It's nice to meet you, Chat Noir. See you around, I presume!" he shot him a smile and took a deep breath, before grabbing his yo-yo. "This might be risky, but I'm planning on jumping out of that window" he warned, before backing up for a running start and soon jumping out of the building through the huge hole where a window once was. Probably. Maybe not. 

As he'd found himself in mid-air, he threw the yo-yo, soon thanking all the Gods above as he saw it catch on the nearest lantern and felt it tug him upwards. He pulled back and soon landed on the pavement, his yo-yo letting go off its previous target and coming back to him. As he collected himself (and his thoughts), taking in the fact that he had just survived such a flight, he heard cheering from above him. 

"Would you look at that!" the cat grinned, clapping his hands. "So Ladybugs really do fly!" 

The blonde couldn't help but grin back at the other, soon saluting and running off. 

********************************************

A few streets away, John found another public toilet (definitely one of his favourite places at that point) and ran inside, checking all the stalls, before locking himself in one and whispering a quick "Spots off". He sighed deeply as the familiar feeling of heat, that he had previously felt on his skin, began to wash off. He was finally wearing his own clothes again. Everything was back to normal...

"So! How was it?" Tikki squealed excitedly, "Do you like him? You totally do! He's funny, isn't he? I think you two fit perfectly! Oh, Master Fu really made a good choice, didn't he?" she flew around his head, before settling on his shoulder. "I might need a little snack after this, though. I am exhausted" she whined quietly. 

John just chuckled quietly and rolled his eyes, "Of course Tikki. What snack did you have in mind?" he hummed. 

"Do you think you could get me some macaroons?" she perked up. 

He grinned. "Gotcha" he patted his bag, suggesting that she should remain hidden, before opening the stall door and heading out. Even though he was no longer wearing the suit, the refreshing feeling was still buzzing inside of him, lighting up his face and keeping his steps energetic. This was going to be a good day. 

********************************************

'No need to hurry with the interview. - SH'  
'I won't be home for a while, left you tea on the counter. - SH'

'It will be cold by the time I'm home, you git.'

'Not my problem. - SH'

'Where did you even go?'

No response.

It's not like John expected one. He was used to being left on read, or sometimes even delivered for the whole day. If Sherlock wanted to, he would tell him later. It was none of his business after all...

'I'll update you as soon as I'm done talking to the witness. Have a good one, Sherlock.' 

'I've already told you there was no need to hurry with that. - SH'

'Thanks, John, I hope you have a good day, too.' 

'Yes, that. - SH'

John sighed deeply. What was he even trying to achieve at this point? He pocketed his phone and pushed the door in front of him open, smiling at the young lady behind the counter. 

"Hello, darling, what can I get for ya today?" she chirped, a lovely smile on her warm face. John eyed her quickly, finding it almost amusing how well she fit in with the atmosphere of the whole bakery. Her long, blonde, high ponytail waved behind her like a cat-tail as her white apron contrasted nicely with her light pink turtleneck. "If I may, we've just got a new flavour of macaroons and we've got a great occasion going on - only now there are three extra biscuits with your morning coffee. What do you say?"

"I say I might just take it" John grinned back at her, soon chuckling as she clapped her hands.

"Perfect! Let me just pack them up for ya" she hummed happily, moving over to the coffee machine as the man sighed quietly, turning to the side and taking this short while of silence to drown in his own thoughts again...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was not checked by any of my betas so I'm sorry for any mistakes - do let me know if you find any. Now, enjoy!

Tawny Johnson was a leggy, slim, (quite a bit curvaceous) young girl with mocha brown eyes. She sat in her armchair straight-backed, holding her mug filled up to the brim with warm, freshly made tea. It took John less than a minute to smell expensive, sweet, almost candy-like, fragrance on her - and he wasn't even paying attention. Soon enough he noted that not only did she own pretty costly perfumes and jewellery, but her whole flat was furnished glamorously, with taste and a high budget. John couldn't help, but wonder...

"Is.... uh- social work... your only current profession?" 

Tawny raised her head, letting her stare leave the small stain on the carpet. John frowned. Was it really that interesting for her? Was she thinking of how it even ended up there? Or maybe she knew exactly how and was now going through all the possible ways of washing it off-

"Yes, quite so. I've work as an accountant before, ever since my Daddy first hired me. I was seventeen, desperately needed some money. He didn't like the idea of me wandering around the streets of London jobless so he gave me a chance. Made a lot of money off that. As you probably know" she said, not bothering to go into details, but not being too shy about it either. John smiled. That was a good sign, she was being honest. 

He nodded at the answer, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Her stare wasn't on the carpet anymore - it was on him. And obviously, it made him quite a bit unsure of any further steps. Think. What would Sherlock do?

He looked right back at her, eying her carefully. She was wearing a rather chic and trendy outfit, black, pink and shades of purple in her makeup and jewellery. Not only that, her (naturally, he assumed) curly hair was pulled up into a low bun, a few strands cupping her slim, yet round face graciously. She was 5'8 - no, 5'9 -and had long, slender fingers with almond-shaped brown nails. She was doing a great job taking care of herself and her appearance, clearly. 

"So" he cleared his throat. "If you could tell me what exactly happened that night..." he tried, but soon enough Miss Johnson cut him off with a sigh as she started telling her tragic story...

********************************

It was a calm, yet cloudy evening in Central London. As Tawny was walking down the streets, passing a variety of shop windows and cars driving by or parked on the side of the pavement. She was heading home after a long afternoon spent at her good friend's house. Camille, being a good mate she was, had been planning her wedding for quite a while now and decided to take a break that day to spend a little bit of time with Tawny. It was a great opportunity for both of them to relax and put their feet up for just a second. 

The sun disappeared behind the tallest office block of London and soon the woman had to wrap herself up in her coat much tighter - it really could get chilly in October. The idea of catching a cab back to her flat crossed her mind once or twice, but eventually she decided that she'd be way too overcharged for it anyways - damn cabbies could never miss the opportunity to choose the longest route possible. 

********************************

"And that is the only reason why you didn't get a ride home?" John questioned, just to make sure that he understood her correctly. This woman was loaded, yet didn't want to overpay for a taxi...

"Yes, darling, I know what you're thinking. How could she be so irresponsible?!" she rolled her eyes with a smirk on her cherry lips. "Please, I am perfectly aware of the fact that I'm young, beautiful and rich-looking. Perfect victim for any sort of murderers or kidnappers. You must remember that I was a bit tipsy and ever since you and your detective friend had published that entry about a murderous cabbie... Well. Paranoid much" she chuckled softly and John nodded. 

"Ah. Alright. Go on, please."

********************************

As the woman walked, her arms wrapped around her waist as she tried her best to stay warm. 'It's only two streets away', she thought, 'You can make it without freezing, hopefully'. So she decided to just bite the bullet and pick up the pace of her steps. 

One turn, then a crossroad, another turn and she came to a stop at the crosswalk. As she was tapping her foot against the concrete impatiently, something black flashed before her eyes. She couldn't quite see what it was at first, but once she took a step back and looked up, she spotted a black and purple butterfly flying right above her. She swung her hand at it, scaring it away and just like that, the light turned to green and she crossed the road, not thinking too much about the weird bug. 

********************************

"Um, right, is this relevant to the happenings of-"

"John Watson, please don't interrupt me. I wouldn't have mentioned it if it wasn't relevant to my story" she rolled her eyes, making his blush brightly. 

"Sorry, do go on" he whispered, soon clearing his throat. 

********************************

She had just passed her favourite bookstore when Tawny heard voices coming from right behind the corner. She turned around, determined to investigate the sounds and that's when she first saw it. A young man, approximately ten years younger than her, but she wouldn't have been surprised if he was still a teenager, stood completely frozen right underneath the street light. He wasn't moving, didn't even twitch, but he kept on repeating something with his eyes wide open. Tawny could feel shivers going down her spine. 

What. The. Fuck. 

********************************

"And you mean you've seen nothing but... that? He was just standing there?" he hummed, writing something down in his notebook. 

"He was talking to himself, yes. His eyes were wide open and - that's the best part - completely dark. A purple hint in 'em" she nodded, crossing her legs. As he kept his stare on her, his brows visibly furrowing, she just sighed. "You don't seem to understand" she pointed out after a moment. 

"Well, not particularly. What do you mean 'purple'-"

"Black and purple. Almost empty" she deadpanned and he froze for a second.

"You mean... like that butterfly?" he questioned, just to make sure that he wasn't going crazy. She couldn't possibly think...

"Yes, just like that butterfly, darling. Black with little hints of shiny purple. He looked possessed" she commented, but before he could reason with that, she cut him off. "No, don't get me wrong, I don't believe in any sort of spiritual shit, but this is the best comparison I can think of. He was clearly out of his mind, he looked off, and I swear to God, the moment I spotted him it got even colder."

John took his time to process the confession, before nodding slowly, "That's the last time you saw the guy?"

"Unfortunately, no. But the next time I saw him it was already too late. It was hours later, when I went out to get some painkillers from my nearby Tesco. Just a few blocks away..." she closed her eyes for a moment, gulping. John quickly caught up on what was going on and hummed. 

"That's when you saw it happen."

"Yes. That's when I saw him kill'er."

********************************

John tapped his fingers against the countertop, looking through his notes with a constant frown on his face. As he was reading each scribble, trying to connect them to create some sort of sentence, he only found himself more confused and lost. A butterfly, possessions, a murder... What was this all about? Sounds like a bunch of complete-

"Fantastic! Absolutely amazing! That was- John, I wasn't aware you were back already."

The doctor raised his head just enough to lock eyes with the taller man, standing in the doorframe of their shared living room. Sherlock looked exhausted, but also amused and content, which was an unusual sight. 

"Something's got you in a good mood. What's the gen?" he queried, resting the pen on top of his notebook and offering the other a genuine smile. 

Sherlock didn't answer. He just looked down at his bag, back up at John and cleared his throat. "Molly's got me an infected liver. I can finally continue my study in primary biliary cholangitis. Anything new for the case?" he put the plastic bag down on the kitchen table and began unpacking it like a Christmas present, clearly deciding to dump the chance of having a nice conversation with John. 

"Just trying to figure out what Tawny really meant... It's a bit tricky, but I'll try to make something out of it" he assured. 

"What do you even mean 'what she meant'? You've been out all day and you don't have enough to figure it out?" Sherlock finally glanced over at him, but seeing the unimpressed look on John's face he shut up. 

"Now that you've put it like that I might as well just get back to it" he huffed. 

"Right. Of course. Good luck, then" the detective muttered, reaching for his goggles. For some reason they were hidden between biscuits and rice, in the cupboard. "Oh, just to make sure, do try not to enter the kitchen area tonight without gloves and a facemask. I wouldn't want your liver to-"

"Got it."

"Perfect, John."


	5. Chapter 5

Gunshots. Never-ending gunshots. Bullets. Flying, stopping time for ones, stopping the hearts of others. Dreadful, raining from the sky, terrifying, coming with the wind, sickening, setting the world on fire, horrid, shaking the ground beneath one's feet. There is no peace - in moments like this any mentally stable man realises that peace has never been an option. 

Sparks fly, but not the pretty ones. Never the pretty ones. Not the sort of sparks flying around a warm fireplace. Not the sort of sparks glimmering in the eyes of the one true lover, a soulmate. Not the sort of sparks blessing the cold, stormy nights with a soft, yet bright beam of light. Bullets levitate above their heads, turning into deadly sparks, lighting up the fire in their hearts. 

The world closes its walls around them and caves in as death opens her long, bony arms, awaiting. She moves closer as he falls back, whimpering as his legs refuse to cooperate. He pulls himself up to his knees, grabs his machinegun tighter, gripping it like if his life depended on it. In that exact moment, when all rational thought loses its meaning, it really does depend on it. 

Death wraps her slender fingers around his neck and digs her claws in his shoulder, tearing a growl out of his already sore throat. 

"Please, God!" he closes his eyes shut, his back arching. His whole body shivered, his head falling back, calling to the skies above. "Please, let me live."

********************************

The sheets felt even colder than usually. At this point he was sure that their draughty windows needed fixing. Or maybe his own temperature went up..? Gulping, he tried to pull himself up and see if his body reacted normally. It did. Good. Leaky window frames, then.

“You’ve been shaking. Another one of those bad dreams you’ve mentioned?” queried a low baritone, making John jump up to sit straight backed. 

“What are you doing in my bedroom, Sherlock?” he clenched his jaw, rubbing his eyes to get used to the dim light filling the room. 

“I- I was watching you sleep.”

“That, I know. But why?” 

“Isn’t that what friends do? When they know something bad’s going to happen, they make sure the other is safe?” 

John licked his lips. Well, he couldn’t possibly disagree with that. “You just never do that.” 

“Is it not appreciated?” 

Not necessarily. “It’s… alright.”

Sherlock wasn’t wearing his nightgown. Neither was he wearing any of his ‘comfortable’ robes. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that he neither slept nor was he planning on doing so. John couldn’t help but wonder - did it have anything to do with ‘sensing danger’? 

“Why did you say that?”

Sherlock’s head shot up as his brows furrowed. “Say what?” 

“That something bad was going to happen? How did you know?” 

The detective seemed to immediately lose interest in the conversation. Usually, when he had the chance to show off, he’d make the best of it, but this time he completely shut down. John wasn’t sure if he had ever seen him collect himself so quickly. 

“That is not important. I wasn’t wrong, was I?”

“Sherlock.”

“I need you to give up on Miss Tawny’s case.” he deadpanned, catching John completely off guard.

“...What?”

“It’s too dangerous,” he hissed, his hands finding their way into the pockets of his coat. He kept his gaze low, dark curls covering half of his voice, blocking John’s view completely.

It couldn’t be real. Sherlock’s slightly shaking his hands, hidden in his pockets, his quivering lip, his quiet hiss instead of the usual, cold statements - he was scared. Why? What about Tawny Johnson’s case terrified him to the point where he wanted John to stay away? Maybe it was deeper, maybe it was personal, yet John couldn’t see any sort of connection between the two - but then again, did he ever truly talk to Sherlock about anything of that sort..? 

“Something’s wrong,” John noticed, but it was no discovery. ‘You only see the obvious, my dear Watson’ Sherlock’s voice rang in his ears and he bit his lip. Maybe, but sometimes ‘the obvious’ is enough.

Sherlock shot him a glare, but his eye twitched - John could have sworn it did. “The case. It’s not good. Forget it. It’s not your concern anymore. I’ll gladly have a look at the notes, so you don’t have to” he blurted out. 

“But you don’t even know the context!”

“I don’t need the context, John,” he barked back. “I can do just fine without it. Leave the case to me!”

“You sound like your brother.” John tried, but soon got scoffed at. 

“That is low,” the detective rolled his eyes. “Even for you.”

And with that, he stormed out of John’s bedroom and down the stairs, avoiding the creaky step like he always did. The door at the bottom of the stairs closed shut. The flat went silent again, but not for long. Muffled shuffling, something knocking against the wooden floor - suddenly, the soft sound of Sherlock’s violin. 

John winced, but soon lay down again, closing his eyes. Sherlock’s music lulled him to sleep, as he dreamed of an apologetic speech he’d have to make for their neighbours and poor Mrs Hudson.

********************************

John. 

Doctor Watson was the right man for his job. He was thoughtful, full of empathy and compassion. His bright smile and warm gaze could melt the coldest of hearts, maybe that’s why he kept him around. It was a useful trait after all. That charming ex-army doctor could wrap the whole world around his finger with all that sweet-talking. Sherlock despised that it worked on him, too. 

His John. 

Watson was a good friend. Not only was he caring and protective, but he also knew exactly what he was capable of - and what he wasn’t. He wasn’t ashamed of admitting to his mistakes, he acknowledged them, apologised and moved on, learning from them. That, Sherlock thought, was an impressive concept for someone who had been formerly abused and taken advantage of. How could a man that had never experienced being taken care of turn out to be so merciful and forgiving? A proof of pure strength and determination.

Tawny Johnson’s case was not a typical one. It was truly something else, something they hadn’t encountered before. They were facing a beginning of a completely new era, a new enemy that appeared to be much more dangerous than they’d previously assumed. 

Akumas. Creations of the darkest of sorcerers, yet so innocent-looking, possessed an unimaginable power of absolute mind control. Feeding on pain, despair and anger, they hunted in plain sight, leading innocent men controlled by their helplessness straight to their inevitable demise.

John Watson was a great man, but during his danger nights, he’d become a threat to society. Not because akumas would lead him to a felony - but because Sherlock needed him. 

And without the two of them, England would fall.

********************************

“What are you doing here at dawn?” 

“I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

That cat arched his back as he glanced at the other. His lips curled into a soft, yet tired smile. 

“Oi, that’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?” Ladybug raised his eyebrow, taking a seat as well. “The rooftop of Bart’s bloody hospital of all places?”

“I followed my heart” he shrugged in response. 

“Poetic.”

“Maybe. But you found me anyways” he whispered, his eyes locking with the other man’s for long enough for him to lose context. 

He gulped. Cat noir’s eyes truly looked animalistic. Deep, focused and wild. Filled with life and passion. He couldn’t help but wonder if his companion grew fangs to match that gaze of his…

He snorted at the thought. 

“What’s so funny?” the cat queried. 

“Nothing,” he shook his head, a warm smile crawling up his face. “Nothing at all.”

Silence fell between the two men, giving Sherlock time to collect his thoughts. He was still figuring out how his new, magical identity affected his Mind Palace - apparently, quite a bit. He had trouble remembering things that appeared obvious as soon as he’d say the words ‘Claws In’. Apart from that, deduction was definitely not Cat Noir’s strong suit, but Sherlock found it understandable. The mystery of his companion’s identity would be solved in less than a day if he was to keep his mind skills. Luckily, he didn’t completely lose them, they just appeared utterly useless. 

For the first time in forever, Sherlock had to give up on wisdom and work with hope and trust. He would never admit it, but the combination of those two terrified him to the core. Hope wasn’t a good emotion to hold onto. Neither was trust. ‘Hearsay,’ he remembered his older brother’s words ‘could never be a witness. One should rely on what one knows’.

“I woke up and felt the sudden urge to come here. I really wanted to watch the sunrise, the sky changing its colours from black to purple, orange, yellow and then blue…” Ladybug took a deep breath. 

“I think we’re on the orange phase already.”

“Oh, yes. Definitely,” he sighed with a nod, tilting his head to the side. “It’s my favourite part.”

They fell silent again. The topic Sherlock was about to bring up would completely destroy his partner’s ‘favourite part’ of the morning. 

He glanced over at the other, noticing how Ladybug’s eyes closed shut, his chin high as he took in as much of the sun as he could. His legs hung from the edge of the rooftop, swinging to the rhythm of some melody known only to him. He looked… content.

Sherlock smiled softly. 

He’d wait a bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest and most sincere apologies for the wait BUT hopefully it's worth it. I've prepared some fluff for this chapter along with slight angst. In the end, everyone's happy!  
> Special thanks to my wonderful beta and a dear friend of mine, fernlessbastard, who stayed up til midnight just to help me with the chapter. Love ya~!


	6. Chapter 6

“Do they scare you?” he asked softly, but the other didn’t seem to listen. “You can tell me, you know? We’re in this mess together, whether we like it or not.”

Sherlock grew up playing pretend. Playing pirates, then playing stupid, then playing whatever role was required. He never truly felt like himself - to the point where he couldn’t quite tell who ‘himself’ was. Even then, when asked to open up, he was covering his entire being with a black mask and a spandex suit. How could he ‘trust’ someone he wasn’t allowed to know? 

“If that would help, I am. Scared, that is. This is a whole new definition of danger. I’ve gone through… hell, truly. But nothing quite this confusing” he tried again, making Cat Noir let out a quiet snicker. He frowned, “What?” 

“Sorry, continue.”

He rolled his eyes, “The point I was trying to get across is that… It’s alright to be scared now. We’re facing something no one’s ever had to face before. Danger of the most complex sort. You can take your time, be vulnerable. Be confused. Hopeless. I know I will. For as long as I can, before hell breaks loose. Hopefully, not too soon…”

The brunet licked his lips nervously. So did his companion. 

“You can be all those things, but you won’t be lonely. We can always go back to this roof, watching the sunset and talking. About whatever.” 

His whispers lingered between them.

“As the planet goes up in flames, it’s you that I’ll lie with. Maybe here, on this rooftop, maybe somewhere else. But not alone,” he took a deep breath, like if his own words shook his entire soul, “Always remember that.”

His hand lay next to the slightly smaller one, the unbearable heat of his companion’s skin and flesh so close beginning to overwhelm him. Heart palpitations, accelerating pounding in his chest, left him painfully aware of being alive. The man’s little finger touched his. Triggered his fight or flight response. 

What to do, what to do, what to do. What does a rational man do, once his head shuts down? Does he stay in one place, deciding on blissful ignorance? Or does he take in as much of the stimulus as he can, risking losing himself completely? 

Did he feel it, too? Or was this all a game of chess? Ladybug had made his move, now he needed to react. Slowly, showing understanding and apprehension, or quickly, letting the left hemisphere of his brain take over. And even after deciding on one of those options, further possibilities were countless. Endless cycle of psychological despair. No use analysing it. Time to make a choice. 

He took his hand. 

********************************

A gloved palm landed on top of her head and her eyes glimmered with uncertainty. She wasn’t one to get intimidated - Irene Adler was the intimidator. She had her looks, her attitude, her charm and her smarts - yet the ethereal combination was nothing against the power of the man she was facing.

And now he was willing to share. Share? No. This wasn’t about dividing his power between the two of them. Hawk Moth was offering her a pact. The agreement had a horrid price nobody in their right mind would pay, but Irene Adler wasn’t one to think about the consequences of her irrational actions. She had a plan, her life’s destination, and she’d do anything to achieve it, whatever it would take. If it required making a deal with the devil, so be it. 

Not thinking about it too much, she nodded, closing her eyes as he’d previously instructed her to. ‘Already following his orders,’ she thought, ‘that’s unlike you, Adler.’

“From now on, your name is Mayura. You, and your kwami Duusu, will work for me. If you disobey, you’ll lose all your powers. Therefore, you’ll lose the chance to become what you’ve always wanted to be. The Empress,” his smile glistened in the dark. “The one in control.”

“Yes, Hawk Moth,” she whispered, gripping the pin. Holding it closer to her chest, she noticed how her heartbeat had grown rapid. 

“Duusu will help you understand your situation a bit better soon. Ask them to help you, whenever you’re ready” he finished with a smirk. His voice still rang in her ears as he walked out of the empty auditorium. 

Left in there, alone , she stared down at her clenched fist. A hairpin hidden inside it seemed to shine through. Her formerly cold expression turned into a grimace, unsure, doubtful. “What have you gotten yourself into..?” she trembled, shutting her eyes once again, letting her head tilt back. Lost, unsure, but filled with hope and determination, she stood there, allowing the darkness to possess her. 

********************************

Leaping through the window of one of the bedrooms at 221B Baker Street, John hissed out a quick “Spots off!”. Shower, change, eat breakfast, drink coffee - he just needed to go about his day, pretending that his night terror didn’t affect him at all. And that he didn’t find any sort of comfort in a certain someone… 

Sherlock wasn’t stupid, obviously, he’d figure it out no matter how hard John would try to hide it. He needed to act natural, find something he’d usually do after a rough night, maybe leave the flat for a few hours. 

Falling back onto the bed, he groaned. He was running from his psychic flatmate again. Telling lies, playing pretend, concealing his emotions. Building up a wall impossible to break down. Once a soldier, always a soldier, he supposed. 

“But it doesn’t always have to be like that, Doctor Watson” Tikky hummed, making him shiver. God, he would never get used to being watched at all times… “You can open up. There are still people you can trust. You’re not losing your best friend, you’re protecting him.”

Protecting Sherlock. That’s what mattered the most in the end. If Cat Noir’s theory was true and Tawny Johnson’s case was somehow related to their new, mystical enemy, Sherlock was in a lot of danger. Especially after he had made his radical decision of working it out on his own. However horrifying and risky it would eventually turn out, John knew what he had to do.

“Save him, John. You must save him” she whispered, giving him a concerned look. “He’s not aware of the hazard… If you don’t do anything now, that’s when you will lose him.”

Save Sherlock Holmes.

He jumped off his bed, but soon stopped midtrack, spotting his reflection in the mirror. A man of a bit less than average height (but wellbuilt, which he would always gladly point out) stared back at him with a mysterious smirk on his pale face. He ruffled his hair a bit and rolled his aching shoulders back, relaxing the muscles. There was something about his gaze that made John feel uneasy. Bravery. And belief. 

John Hamish Watson believed in himself. 

The reflexion grinned and so did he. It’d been a while since he last felt as much hope as he did in that exact moment, looking himself in the eyes for the first time in what felt like ages.

********************************

“Duusu, let’s transform back” Mayura whispered, giving her feathered fan one last swing, before her costume disappeared into thin air. She fixed her hair, shivering as her fingers glided across the pin. 

“Irene. You need to be more careful next time you transform in a public space-” Duusu tried to reason, her concern visible on her little face. Her rightful owner glared at her quickly. 

“This is hardly an open public space. I know what I’m doing. Out of all of the things I’ve done and agreed to today, this is nowhere near careless. Can you leave me alone now? I just want to think.” she hissed out.

Knowing how confused, furious and hopeless Irene must have felt on the inside, Duusu decided to back off completely. Letting her have as much time and space as she needed, the kwami was just about to dematerialize, but turned back one last time. 

“Yes. Of course,” she reminded her with a short mumble. “Just keep in mind that Hawk Moth wants you to come at 7-.”

“I know what he wants me to do, Duusu. Leave this to me” she barked back.

Just like that, her miniature companion was gone. Dematerialised, away, somewhere Irene wouldn’t ever be able to reach. But she’d wanted that, didn’t she? She’d asked to be alone. 

A watery chuckle escaped her bloody red lips. She had chosen loneliness the day she first decided to seek Hawk Moth’s intercession. She was aware of the sacrifices he’d persuade her into making, yet still accepted every single one of them. She had been blinded by power, longing for friction. Needless to say, it didn’t work out the way she’d planned. Reality punched her in the face, and refusing to give her any time to get used to the pain of the brutal truth, hit her once more. It pushed her to the ground, keeping a steady grip on her legs and arms, pulling her down every time she tried to get up. 

Kate would always tell her to stay away from people like him. She’d go on and on about her growing hatred towards his type, knowing exactly what he was capable of doing to any of his workers. But Irene knew all of that already. She did, but she refused to accept it. And look where that got her...

She thought she would fit right in. With all her charm, her elegant, almost bewitching apparel, and most importantly all of her charisma - she’d assured herself that all of that mesmerising facade was enough to fool Hawk Moth himself. 

“If you’re not ready for this, you could always step back now. Tell me you’re not strong enough, tell me you can’t,” she remembered his hiss straight into her ear, “and I’ll let you leave here. But you’ll lose your chance to ever come back again.” 

He was a monster. Not a human being, a spider inside an enormous web consisted of all that had ever been wronged and dark powers she couldn’t yet take in. At first she wanted to know, she had really tried to understand why he was doing any of it. After months of tracking all his earnings, she realised one thing - he was simply bored. 

“World domination? Boring,” he chuckled, gracefully shaking his head. “I don’t want evil to win, darling. Where would be the fun in that? I’m just playing a game with all that’s right and wrong. By the end of it no one will know what those words mean anymore…”

********************************

“I’m leaving.” Sherlock informed coldly, grabbing his coat on his way to the hallway. 

John didn’t look up, pretending to get overly involved in the story of some sort of political mess happening in America at the given time. In reality, he had found himself completely lost in thoughts, just waiting to hear his irrational friend shut the front door behind him. He jumped out of his armchair, abandoning the morning papers and getting back to his bedroom as soon as his legs had allowed him to. 

“It’s time,” he murmured to Tikki. 

Giving him a stern look, she crossed her little arms and frowned, “is it?”

“Do you have a better idea? You don’t know what he might get himself into!” His jaw clenched. 

“Is that more important than what you might get yourself into? You need to protect your identity from the public eye and you’re planning on wandering around as Ladybug all day just to make sure Sherlock Holmes doesn’t get akumatized?” she tried to reason, but he didn’t seem to listen. 

“Tikki, spots on!” he said before she managed to oppose. 

“Alright…” he whispered to himself, brushing the imaginary dust off his hips, “time to get to work then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a longer chapter, but as you may or may not notice it's a bit harder to put together - a lot of new characters, new plot points... so yeah. Bear with me.   
> I'm currently working on a different project on here, so further updates might take a bit longer than usually.


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